


Necessary Daydream

by solohux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bottom Hux, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solohux/pseuds/solohux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux struggles to sleep and finds himself fantasising about Grand Moff Tarkin and Director Krennic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessary Daydream

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a good explanation for this. Seeing Ben Mendelsohn in his Krennic uniform at the Star Wars celebration today was just so hot and it slowly turned into 'Hux would toally jerk it whilst thinking of himself between Krennic and Tarkin'. So here we are! Completely self-indulgent but I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, I've found out that it's almost impossible for me not to incorporate Kylux into everything.
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️

Starkiller is gone. 

The project that was meant to be Hux's legacy, meant to be  _indestructible_ , has been obliterated out of existence by the meddling Resistance. Loss is something that Hux hasn't been trained for, it's not something his father would have even considered as an option for any task that Hux undertook. Even as a small boy, it'd been drilled into him that any sort of failure is utterly unacceptable and he supposes that _this_ catastrophic failure will be his legacy, the event that will define his life. Not his persistence, not his skills as a strategist, not even his being one of the youngest high-ranking officers within the First Order. 

General Armitage Hux; the man who _somehow_ managed to lose a massive superweapon to a few excitable rebels.  

Hux trudges back to his quarters, his head throbbing. His feet and back ache terribly after standing for hours next to Kylo in the bacta tank, watching the gravely wounded Knight float seemingly peacefully in the pale liquid. Hux had refused to move until Kylo was taken out, wanting to know that he was at least, on the safe road to recovery. Kylo had been removed from the tank and settled into a proper bed before Hux had been forced to leave, the medics demanding that Hux return to his quarters for at least a few hours rest with the promise that they would contact him immediately should Kylo's status change.

And Hux couldn't find the energy to argue against medical orders, his body cruelly demanding some form of rest. 

His quarters are exactly how he left them though he doesn't linger in the main chamber for long, already pulling his jacket off as he tiredly walks into his quiet bedchamber, feeling his tense body crying out for the softness of his sheets. He peels off the layers of uniform and drops them on the floor in a pile, feeling too disheartened to even consider their untidiness. 

Hux sighs, brushing his red hair from his face. A career's worth of planning and building, eliminated in an instant as though nothing more than a pencil drawing on a page, erased, no evidence that such a thing ever existed. 

But as Hux finishes undressing and climbs into his bed, wearing only his black underwear, he slowly realises that the destruction of the Hosnian system is proof enough that Starkiller existed and that it will be remembered, just as the elimination of Alderaan is a sign of the Death Star's success as a superweapon. 

Only as his thoughts drift to Kylo lying unconscious in an unfamiliar bed in medbay does Hux realise that he has habitually shuffled over to the right side of his own bed, as though to make room for Kylo, who has a preference for the left. Guilty thoughts about leaving Kylo alone push their way to the forefront of Hux's mind but he tries to ignore them, attempting to rationalise the guilt; he needs rest, he'd be useless to Kylo if he collapses from exhaustion. 

Hux shifts over to the middle of the bed, suddenly remembering how big it actually is with just him in it. Closing his eyes, he wills sleep to take him quickly but it remains elusive and Hux finds himself watching the chronometer on his bedside table, watching the minutes tick by. 

He huffs impatiently, tossing and turning in the dark sheets, eventually kicking them off his restless legs. He knows that usually, when sleep eludes him, orgasms help to relax his tense body, to slow his overactive mind and bring on a natural sleep. But usually, Hux relies on Kylo for such a task, desiring for the Knight to touch him and fuck him until he can no longer resist the strong call of rest.

Hux supposes he'll have to indulge himself for tonight. 

He props himself up on the pillows and slips his underwear down slightly, pulling out his soft cock. But as he spits into his own hand and wraps his fingers around his shaft, Hux supposes that creating an elaborately dirty fantasy of Kylo pushing him down and fucking him roughly into his mattress would be wrong whilst the Knight is gravely wounded and healing in medbay. Somehow, it seems inappropriate, but Hux has already decided that an orgasm would solve his problem, and he knows he has to come up with some other form of fantasy that will achieve the same outcome; to relax him into sleep, to help him forget about Starkiller. 

Digging deep, he recalls a fantasy he created for himself before Kylo had claimed him, an intricate daydream involving Director Orson Krennic and Grand Moff Willhuff Tarkin, two men whom cadet Hux had idolised for their work in aiding in the flourishing of the powerful Empire. He supposes too, dwelling on it, that both men would understand his distress at losing his superweapon, considering they'd both gone through the same with the Death Star. 

Strong men, capable officers, _alluring_ personas. Hux swallows hard, already feeling aroused at those three simple concepts.

Hux leans his head back against the pillows as he strokes himself, pulling up his old fantasy to the front of his imagination, ready and willing to serve the two men whom he so desperately craved approval from. 

Setting the scene of his fantasy in his mind, he imagines himself striding along the corridors of the _Finalizer,_ a few paces ahead of Krennic and Tarkin as he gives them an extravagant tour of his ship. Hux has always been proud of his Star Destroyer, her sleek interior, unfathomable firepower and countless victories.

“Impressive,” Tarkin says, rolling the ‘r’ of the word with a flick of his tongue.

Hux feels his heart flutter in his chest at Tarkin’s compliment, only furthered when he hears Krennic make a sound in agreement. The two Imperials are in their usual uniforms, clothing which Hux is extremely familiar with after watching countless holovideos of them in their heyday. Tarkin’s dark uniform contrasts with Krennic’s stark white clothing in a way that Hux finds intensely appealing, as though the two of them together represent a completed picture; dark and light, one being split in two.

“I would very much like to see the bridge, _General_ ,” Krennic says.

“Of course, sir,” Hux says, being unable to fight his growing arousal as the Director uses his rank, as though it holds some form of _approval._

Hux leads the two men to the bridge, finding it empty--though Hux supposes this is _his_ fantasy and he’s never been one for voyeurism--and silent. The three of them stand at the helm, looking out onto the vast array of stars, and Hux feels sweat beginning to form across his brow at the closeness of Tarkin’s and Krennic’s bodies against his own.  

“Do not dwell on your failures,” Tarkin says, “you destroyed an entire system with your weapon, did you not?”

“Well.” Hux hesitates, turning to look at the Grand Moff. “Yes. I suppose. But—”

Tarkin holds his hand up. Hux is immediately silenced.

“Cruelty is born from failure,” Tarkin says, turning his body fully towards Hux until their chests are practically touching. “Cruelty is necessary for growth, _expansion._ That is what you want for the First Order, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Hux replies, feeling Krennic pressing up against his back, his strong hands on Hux’s slim hips.

Krennic’s lips are warm, his breath hot against Hux’s ear. “This may be a defeat, but _you_ , General, are _not_ defeated.”

Hux’s eyes slip closed as he feels Krennic’s hands sliding around his waist to unfasten his belt, fumbling with the button on his trousers. He exhales slowly as Krennic pulls his trousers down to expose the pale tops of his thighs. Almost immediately, Tarkin begins palming the bulge at the front of Hux’s underwear, cupping him through the thin material. Hux gasps, jerking his hips into the touch as Krennic smooths his hand up Hux’s chest from behind. He grips the General’s chin and pulls him to the side, pushing their lips together in a desperate kiss.

In his room, Hux increases the pace of his strokes, finding that his mouth is falling slack, as though waiting for Krennic to appear and slide his tongue into Hux’s waiting mouth. He strokes himself with vigour as he returns to the scene.

Tarkin pulls his underwear down roughly over his slim hips, exposing his hardening cock and the soft curve of his ass, the Grand Moff’s hand wrapping around his shaft almost as soon as it’s free. Hux moans into Krennic’s mouth, feeling his knees wanting to buckle under the pressure of Tarkin’s cold hand around his cock.

“Calm yourself, boy,” Tarkin says, obviously feeling Hux attempting to rut into his hand, desperate for a harsher touch. Hux moans in response, attempting to apologise, though he admits it’s difficult with Krennic’s tongue roaming around his open mouth, brushing across his own tongue with the intent to dominate. Krennic pulls away, sliding his hands back around Hux’s body to grip the plump flesh of his ass cheeks, spreading them open, exposing Hux’s entrance, and grinding his own hardening cock against him.

“It would seem as though he is a little _too_ eager. Orson, steady him,” Tarkin orders, and Krennic’s strong hands are suddenly around Hux’s narrow hips, holding him in place, his ass pushed back against Krennic’s growing erection. Hux leans his head back around Krennic’s shoulder, gasping loudly as Tarkin increases the speed of his strokes, rubbing his thumb over the wet slit of Hux’s cock every few seconds.

“ _Please_ ,” Hux whispers, feeling the pressure on his hips increase as he tries to buck forward, desperate to come. “Tell me what I need to do. I don’t know where to go from here.”

He lifts his head from Krennic’s shoulder, staring into Tarkin’s foreboding eyes. The Grand Moff’s sharp features contort into a smirk, his gaze locked on Hux’s blushing face. He strokes Hux as fast as his wrist will allow, wet sounds filling the vacant space of the bridge.

“Set aside your failures,” Tarkin says.

“And _become_ the Starkiller,” Krennic finishes.

In his room, Hux’s arches his back as he comes into his hand, imagining himself spilling his seed into _Tarkin’s hand_ whilst his trembling thighs are held firmly in place by Krennic’s strong grip. Hux cries out as his orgasm takes hold, finding himself grinding his hips as though Krennic’s erection is still pressed up against his backside, still so desperate to please. Every inch of his skin tingles in the aftermath of his orgasm and he lies still, limbs splayed out across the bed as he tries to catch his breath, his hand sticky with his come. He idly wipes it on the sheets, making a mental note to change them in the morning.

He lies down properly in the bed, pulling the blankets over his body as sleep looms over him. He hadn’t expected such a simple fantasy to be so successful. Clearly, Tarkin and Krennic hold control over him in a way that Hux hadn’t anticipated. But as Hux begins to drift off into the natural sleep that he so desired, he feels a familiar, deep voice inside his mind.

_And here I was thinking that all your fantasies were of me. I’m offended, Hux._

Hux rolls his eyes, but finds himself smiling. Kylo is awake.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> My tumblr is also [here](http://solohux.tumblr.com/) ❤️


End file.
